Guilt on a rooftop
by newtypeshadow
Summary: Schuldich is thinking bitter thoughts on the Koneko roof concerning Youji and Aya. Brad intrudes, much to his annoyance. Language, shounen-ai references. oneshot


Untitled (Guilty on a Rooftop)

by newtypeshadow

First draft: January 2002

Last revised: 05/12/02

*Warning: language, shounen ai themes

thoughtspeak

~*~   ~*~   ~*~

God. I _really fucking hate _you.

No, not the God up in His heaven, not the God Farfarello wants to kill in his glorious insanity, and not the God Ken prays to every night thinking it'll make a difference. I don't know if I believe in God, so "He" really has no part in this little mental rant, now does "He"? Nah. I'm talking about you, Youji. The sad thing is we might've even been friends. Oh, sure, I'll still smirk and pretend to flirt with you – and _everyone_, for that matter – but what I'll really want to do is wrap my fingers around that pretty little neck of yours and watch you choke and sputter and die.

…And at the same time, I'll wish I could be you.

I shiver, more of anger than chill. The winds are still tonight, and the heat seems to have settled in the air. The roof of the Koneko has stopped everything tonight. And the calm of the outside reaches inside of me to extract the anger, piece by piece. Then the wind stirs my hair and the anger is rekindled.

Kudou Youji. Who would've thought that _you_ of all people was gay? Or…bi? Whatever the hell you are, you _weren't_ supposed to be competition. Certainly you weren't supposed to be the victor. Yet still, you melted that human glacier – not me, _you_ – and now _you_ are down there somewhere kissing him. Do you know how many nights I couldn't sleep cos I kept seeing his face? that gorgeous red hair that feels positively _alive_ under your fingertips? Yeah, you do. It probably happened to you too, and in all fairness you saw him first. But we're not talking fair here, are we, Youji, because you didn't really see _him_ until it looked like you would lose him to me, a former member of Schwarz, the enemy. Bastard, you didn't even _notice_ him until you saw me seeing him in a way you'd never considered before – trust me, I know what went on in your head when you saw the two of us actually laughing together in the shop one day; I'm a telepath, you idiot. So really, if all were fair, it would be my lips moving with his, _me_ he's holding the way he's never held another soul in his life. But like I said, we're not talking fair here.

God, Youji, I really, _really_ hate you. It doesn't take a mind reader to see how much he loves you back. I said I'd stay out of your heads, and I have (except for that slip up when I felt you watching us in the shop – you were broadcasting, really _not_ my fault), but right now I really wanna fuck you.

Yes, fuck. And you know, I could make you like it, too. Oh, don't get me wrong, I'd never actually touch you. I probably couldn't subdue you with my own strength, and we both know it. But I've got my mind on my side, and you should know telepathy presents many interesting possibilities, opening places deeper in your brain than you'll ever know exist. I could give you a brain fuck so sweet and devastating you'd be too busy biting your brand new straight-jacket to wonder how the padded cell got there. I wanna fuck you, Youji. But I won't. Why?

Aya would live a miserable life if I did, that's why. I know him better than you do, asshole. I know he'd wait for you, just like his sister, miserable and silent until his dying breath he'd wait for you. I've entertained, albeit briefly, the thought of rearranging his mind, _making_ him love me, but even if I was sure I could do it, I wouldn't. Real love is what I want, not some cheap substitute. I was a whore once, and I know the kind of relationship I _don't_ want. Besides, even _I_ can't deal with that much guilt. I couldn't look at those fucking _gorgeous_ violet eyes of his, _shining_ with love for me, and know it wasn't really him feeling it.

Depressing, isn't it?

The wind slacks, stops again. The streets are still, and the pavement glitters under the streetlamps from this afternoon's rain. And I get this idea. See, if I can jump to the ground, I can go take a walk – cos I've got this itch to just _go, _get _away_ from these people, farther than just this stupid roof…walk till my legs give out and I can't walk back or on even if my worthless life depends on it. Hell, no one will even notice I'm gone. Well, if they do, they won't think anything of it for at least a few days; I've been known to disappear on occasion.

I'm about to jump down when I hear someone shout my name. Or should I say roar?

I slide a few fiery strands of hair behind my ear, take one foot off the ledge, and glare at the intruder.

"What the fuck do you want, Crawford?" He is _so_ the last person I want to see right now. Oh, wait – third to last…though, actually, seeing Omi or Nagi or Ken would piss me off more – what gives them the right to be so goddamn happy all the time? I know they're not faking it, either…well, most of the time, anyway…so at sixth to last out of my usual crowd, I guess Crawford's not all bad then, is he?

He strides over to me, the Angel of Wrath incarnate, robed in blinding white against the hazy black sky, and yanks me back hard enough to hurl me to the ground behind him. I rub my sore tailbone and sit up slowly, wincing. The American bastard hasn't moved since he made his less-than-typical, violent entrance. His back is tense and stiff as his pressed pants and slicked-back hair. He doesn't look at me, but his hands are clenching into fists I know would be white as his suit if it weren't too bloody dark up here to see the color of flesh.

"What the fuck is your problem?" As quickly as I'm able on a sore ass, I stand shakily and approach him, fully intending to sock him in the jaw, clairvoyant or not. Normally I wouldn't _dream_ of doing something like this, but it's really not been my night, and he has _terrible_ timing for a psychic. Fuck this subordinate shit. It's none of his damn business what I choose to do with my time; if I want to sulk, I _will sulk_, dammit. "I said, what the—"

_PAIN._

When my vision clears, I see Crawford's cold, impassive face hot with barely contained rage. "What's my problem?" he asks me, voice calm and steady, not betraying the anger I can see, even _feel_ radiating from his body. Tearing through his mind isn't necessary to know when Crawford's pissed. At present, I'm suspended against a brick wall of the Koneko roof by the collar, held snugly in place by a single fist of said man, my feet are dangling, and I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life. The light through the cracks of the door beside me light up half of Crawford's face and reflect in his glasses. He looks more like the Angel of Death than Wrath now, which is infinitely worse for me. "What's my problem?" he hisses through white, clenched teeth, which glint in the light and make him look much more dangerous. "I just saw you…" his grip tightens, and I feel the back of my head scrape painfully against the bricks. "I just saw you _die_, Schuldich."

My eyes are wide, and my jaw is halfway down my knees when his fingers loosen on my collar and he lowers me – gently – to the ground. It does me no good; the momentum is still enough to send me sliding to the ground. I can only stammer "die" in what I _think_ is a question. I've never been afraid to die. I'd almost welcome it…but from a little jump like that? Maybe he's right though, cos assassin or not, I can't even stand under my own strength because of some _stupid _little image that popped into Crawford's head he probably made up _anyway_ just to make sure I didn't go out tonight. God forbid I _enjoy_ my miserable little life. He must have screwed up, cos I am definitely not stupid enough to die from—

I know the sarcasm is a lie to make myself snap out of the funk I've literally slid into, but Crawford doesn't. Who cares? He can't hear me talking to myself like Farf on a good day.

"I didn't make it up, and I didn't make a mistake."

Great, so now _he's _a telepath. Who needs me anymore? I bark a short laugh that might have scared me if I'd been thinking straight. Now where am I supposed to go?

"You're not going anywhere, Schu."

Alright, now I know what it's like when I answer peoples' thoughts, and it's seriously freaking me out.

"I'm not a telepath, Schuldig, you're broadcasting."

Oh, well that's nice. "Sorry about that." I flash him a lopsided grin and focus for a moment on quieting my thoughts down, thankful I can keep my job of making others as miserable as myself. But then I snap out of my momentary madness and remember what happened. The shock rushes back to me with the gust of wind that suddenly picks up my hair and whips it in my face. "How did I die?" I ask softly.

He walks away from me to stand on my ledge. He isn't looking at me anymore; yet another face who can't stand to see my own. "You didn't bother to catch yourself. You just…fell."

I don't say anything as I reach hesitantly into his mind and extract his vision, his image of me standing on the ledge, stepping off, looking down, smiling, then finally closing my eyes and reaching out….

I shudder. And I am ashamed.

"Let's go take a drive."

I shake my head, not really paying attention to anything but the image of my body sprawled on the ground in a gruesome parody of my usual flirtatious sprawl. My hair is redder than Aya's, and spreads around my shoulders like the bloody halo of an angel approaching hell. "All I wanted to do was take a friggin _walk_."

We stand in contemplative silence for a while. The breeze slacks, teases his black bangs, and I wonder if in his stillness he's seeing another future. Finally he opens the door beside me and motions me through. "C'mon, ahou," he says. The inside light reflects on his glasses again, but this time it seems warm rather than menacing.

Crawford, warm. Ha! I want to stay out here for a little while longer, man. I'll be in in a minute.

I'll wait. He shoots the thought back at me like a bullet straight to my brain.

Kuso. Well, at least he's himself again. "Fine, I'm going already…fucking prick…I hate Americans. You're all so damn nosy. You never know when to--" I continue like this for a time as we walk. He knows I don't mean it, and I know he's ignoring me. It's okay. It's normal. It's us.

We're going into the den when I see Youji and Aya sitting next to each other on the couch. They don't touch, but I can feel the bond between them suffocating me the moment I walk in. I hesitate and turn back. "I forgot my--"

"Urusai," he growls at me and grabs my sleeve at the elbow, dragging me with him. To them, he says simply, "we're going out. We'll be back later." When we're out of earshot, he gives me a look. "You forgot bullshit, Schuldich. Let's keep it where you left it." He grabs the keys from the table by the door, and we walk down the steps, out through the back door of the flower shop, and onto the glistening streets.

AN: ahou = idiot, moron

Well, that was my first completed (and attempted…first anything'd) Weiss Kreuz fic, so please read and review. Are the characters OOC? Did I screw up my information? Good and bad comments welcome – critiques are what you're here for, ne? If this goes over well, maybe I'll actually type up the other WK fics playing ring-around-the-rosey my brain (this is why I can never remember chemistry information. *sigh*). *rereads* Well, _that_ was a shameless plug if I've ever seen one. And now that I've dragged my beloved dignity in sludge, I'll take my leave. Hope you enjoyed it. ^_^

PS. If anyone can think of a title, do tell – I'm terrible with them.


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